I am currently attempting to write a poem and it is completely unsuccessful, so thought that maybe I’d write a blog entry about the subject on which I’d like to write my poem and maybe I’d find something.
The assignment is to write an allusion, a reference to art, history, literature, etc. For example, Robert Frosts’ “Out! Out!” is an allusion to William Shakespeare’s MacBeth, “out, out brief candle!… out, out damned spot!”
The strangest thing about my lack of inspiration is that I chose to allude to my literature hero, who has inspired me countless times before; Henry David Thoreau. I’m in love with Henry David Thoreau.
“There is no remedy for love, but to love more”
I chose this particular quote for another reason too…, but I won’t go into too much detail. I think I’ll just tell you that love is not easy, but when it is worth it, you just have to love them through the pain. It is particularly hard when you have fallen in love for the first time; it is one very big, painful learning experience. I don’t think any single experience will ever teach you what your first love will. Through all the pain, in the back of your head, you remember that this person whom you love loves you too, but you try to keep in mind that it is twice as hard for them because they’ve never felt this way about anyone before. And it changes your mind. Suddenly, you’re not so mad at them because you know what they’re going through, you’ve been there too, and you stop yelling at them and you take their hand instead. It hurts, but the only remedy for love, is more love, and you don’t want them to hurt so you love them with all your heart.
Its 3 AM and he is sleeping in his crib, tucked tightly in his fleece blanket, protected from the harsh winter that is merely a wall away. Suddenly you are awoken by screaming, uncontrolable sobbing, coming from the next room. Remember when you were little and even though your mom warned you not too, you popped in a scary movie right before bed and after the movie you shrug it off, pretending you weren’t scared, but as soon as the lights go out, suddenly every shadow, every creak, every breeze tightens the grip you have on your blanket. Your imagination is yours, but it somehow has a way of getting the best of you when you’re young. Its 3 AM; you immediantly leave your warm bed to come to the rescue. “It was just a dream,” you wisper to the sobbing bundle in your arms. His tears begin to dry, and his breathing becomes more regular. You sigh with relief when you feel his muscles relax as he falls back into a peaceful sleep. You place him lightly in his crib, making sure he is tightly wrapped in his fleece once again. Its 3 AM; you can’t sleep. You lay in bed, wondering what he is dreaming about. Whenever he hurts, you hurt a little too. When he bumped his head yesterday morning when he was showing your mother, who stopped by to visit, that he just learned how to crawl. You rescued him then, too. You picked him up from the living room floor and held him tight. You pray that he’ll never need to be rescued by anything greater than a little bump to the head or a bad dream. Again, it crosses your mind how little time you have to teach him everything you want him to know. You know not to blink because if you do, he’ll be applying to college and proposing to his high school sweetheart. You are excited to watch him grow and scared because eventually you’ll have to let him go. Love hurts; but “there is no remedy for love, but to love more” (Thoreau).
That might just be my poem.
